The Hardest Thing To Lose
by SoraGirl
Summary: .'They say you don’t realize what you have until you lose it, and I’ve lost it.' Hermione reflects on a summer with Ron and what went wrong. RHr


**Disclaimer:** I'm po'. I don't own Harry Potter --

**Author's Notes:** I've finally had time to go through my old stories and start completing some of the shorter ones that were previously unfinished. I'm happy I'm finally getting them done, but it means many are out of date. For example, I think the beginning of this was written after OotP and before HBP and the last few paragraphs were written post HBP. So please, excuse any factual inaccuracies.

_Dedicated to F.B., because back then, you would have hoped the fence_ ;)

**_The Hardest Thing To Lose_**

"You never know what you have until you lose it." Growing up, it had always been a pretty common phrase in my household, among many others. "Talk only when you can improve the silence." "Wisdom lies between the facts." "Dental hygiene leads to mental hygiene!"

But this one, I had never really taken seriously. "You never know what you have until you lose it." Maybe it was true for some people, I thought, but not for me. _I_ was Hermione Granger, after all. I was observant, astute, meticulous. I wasn't like the other girls, but it didn't matter, because _nothing_ got by me. If I had something, I would never have to lose it to find out.

But then, Ronald Weasley did what I hated and loved most about him. Ronald Weasley proved me wrong.

It was the summer, as often is the case in stories like these, and I was spending mine at the Burrow. Somewhere around the end of our six year, Harry and I had both made the decision that we wouldn't return home again until the war was over. I had done it to protect my family, and Harry had done it to protect himself. Without a second thought, Ron had offered up his own home as a safe haven for us both.

While I was happy to accept, Harry could not. Voldemort was stronger then ever and looking for him. He needed more protection then the Weasley household could provide. Instead, he took residence with the Order of the Phoenix, where Dumbledore and the rest would be spending their holiday.

And so, summer began. The awkwardness of being the only non-Weasley in the house quickly subsided ("She'll be a Weasley soon enough!" Fred had grinned, nudging Ron in the stomach) and life became routine. Ron and I spent nearly every moment together, savoring the familiarity, companionship, and safety that was so rare in such hard times. It was the most literal kind of break that could be fathomed. The Burrow, nestled into the rolling greenery, remained untouched from the world collapsing outside of it, and really, so did we.

Mr.Weasley returned exhausted from Ministry ever day, but never shared any news. Percy had long since stopped writing. Mrs. Weasley shushed anyone who so much as mentioned "You-Know-Who". The Order left us completely alone. When I brought this up to Ron one day, as we walked idly outside one day, not really doing much of anything, he gave a quiet "No news is good news," clearly content not to give it another thought.

I too would have been just as happy to believe that, but I couldn't. It was _my_ gift, my curse, to always see the truth. The Order had plenty of news to give us, rising Death Eaters, dead Muggles galore but they didn't. Instead, they were giving us something else, something much more important. They were giving us this, this one last summer to be children, to have light in lives that had been so constantly dark. They were giving us happiness and relief. Perhaps because deep down, they knew we would never be happy again. In that case, no news was the worst news of all.

I tried to put it out of my mind, focus on other things, trying to appreciate the gift they were giving us. Ron and I busied ourselves with all sorts of trivial things. Wizard chess, muggle chess, walking, fighting, swimming. Mostly though, and during even our most exciting activities, we talked. In fact, that summer we must have talked more then we had talked in our entire six years of friendship, until suddenly, we didn't even have to talk anymore. We could just wink or laugh or smile and that said it all. Suddenly, nothing was awkward anymore, we were completely relaxed. We could tell each other anything as easily as we could tell ourselves. And what's more, though we still teased and poked fun, we had an underlying understanding, that deep deep down, we cared about each other very much.

It was around this time that Ron acting rather strange, doing things that I would later look back on and regret not taking time to understand. We had been out one day, searching for wherever Crookshanks had run off to, when Ron pulled a few flowers out of the ground. "Here," he said, holding them out for my approval like some scared little child waiting for his mother's reaction to a finger painting he had made. I blushed, taking them from his open hand.

"Thanks," I said, absentmindedly tucking one behind my ear.

"Flowers really suit you, 'Mione," he smiled nervously. I smiled too, and for the next few days, I wore flowers in my hair.

It was the little things like, things he said, things he did, that made me bubble up with excitement. So many, so obvious, so clear…and I was blind. I remember one night, we had slipped into a more forlorn conversation, a conversation about the war.

"Do you think there's still hope?" I had whispered, my sleeping bag beside his.

"Sometimes I do," he said, gazing up into the stars.

"Like when?" I asked. I was desperate to know, I needed some hope of my own.

He was silent as his ears turned slightly pink. "Like whenever I'm talking to you."

It all seems so obvious now. It's so easy to call up the memories I want and forget the doubt I once had. But back then, I couldn't see it or if I could, I wasn't sure enough. There weren't enough facts. It was all emotions and interpretation. I had nothing solid to base my case on so I didn't act, I couldn't. I just ignored what I couldn't understand.

Eventually, to our disappointment, the summer came to an end and we were flung back into the cold dankness of reality. There was no more time for laughing or talking of any of the things we had enjoyed. The closeness Ron and I had shared quickly dissolved. I was busy with school work and spells and Ron was busy distracting himself with Butterbeer and Quidditch matches. We had no time for each other anymore.

Ron, though, he made time. He would stop me in the hall, write a note, send an owl, visit me in the library. They were nice things, but they were small things. They were so very small in a world where everything else seemed so very big.

It was late on some odd Tuesday night and practicing as many curses as I could on a few poor innocent spiders, which might have been the reason Ron approached me in the first place (he's always taken some sick pleasure in my use of spiders as test subjects). We talked for a while, but not very intently, I was busy with my spells and he seemed to have something else on his mind too.

"You know, Hermione," he said, grimacing as he flicked a paralyzed spider off the table. "We don't talk much anymore."

"No," I admitted. I poked at my most recent victim with my wand, and sure enough, he turned into a small pool of water on the table. "I guess we don't."

Ron ran a nervous hand through his messy red hair. "I'm really sorry about this year 'Mione. I don't know what happened but we really grew apart…and I regret it. You're the type of friend a guy really can't afford to lose."

I smiled, flattered by the compliment. "It wasn't your fault Ron, we've all been very busy."

"Yeah, I guess," he said emotionlessly. "Hey," he started, looking nervous once again. "Do you maybe want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? You know, catch up?"

I would have loved to have gone to Hogsmeade with him. I would have loved to catch up. I would have loved to laugh and play and forget it all, but sometimes reality keeps you from what you love.

"I'm sorry Ron," I said sincerely, pushing the last of the spiders off the table and gathering my books up in my arms, "I'd really love to but I've got too much to do. I don't have anytime for Hogsmeade."

Ron put a happy smile on his face that wasn't at all convincing. "Uh..okay, no problem, you know…just thought I would ask," he said, blushing once again. "Maybe I can help you out with some spells one day?"

"Maybe," I smiled, lifting up my heavy books. Ron reached out, as if to help with the load, but then reached nervously back.

"Goodnight Ron," I told him.

"Goodnight."

It was a few days later when Harry found me in the library.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you!"

I lifted my nose from a musty book. "…and you didn't check the library?"

Harry didn't seem to find the joke very funny. "Hermione, you know the group I met, at the Three Broomsticks?"

I nodded. Near the beginning of the term, Harry had met up with a few bolstering supporters of Dumbledore, who had been demanding that the bar tender "take them to the leader of the Dumbledore's Army!" Despite their poor first impression, Harry had become good friends with the group and had been teaching DATDA on every visit to Hogsmeade since.

"Well, they're bringing a group of friends next time, and I'm not sure if I can handle them all on my own. You're the only person I can think of to help-"

"_Harry_-" I interrupted. "I really can't. It's important that we have as many resources as possible, and I-"

"You don't call _this_ resources? What good will it do if one witch knows hundreds of spells. We have to teach them," he said.

"_Harry_…" I moaned.

"Oh come on Hermione, it'll only be for a few hours and you know it's worth it. Please?"

I stubbornly grumbled an agreement. It was obvious he was right, but I certainly didn't want to admit it, especially not if it meant spending my weekend at Hogsmeade.

So, that's how I ended up at Hogsmeade that day, teaching some questionable spells to some even more questionable characters. Thankfully, like Harry had promised me, they were fast learners and I was done early enough to get some work done back at the castle.

"You sure you don't want to take a quick stop at Honeydukes before we go?" Harry asked, having insisted he escort me home. "On me?"

Against my better judgment, I decided an extra few minutes wouldn't hurt. Harry treated me to some sweets and we quickly began our trek back to the castle. Once we reached our destination, I headed, as usual, to the library and Harry to the commons.

It must have been late when the rest of the group got back, though I had lost track of time in the library. I watched for a moment as the happy group went strolling past my windowed door, then turned back to my work, sucking thoughtfully on the end of my new sugar quill.

I jumped as I heard the door open. "_Oh_," I sighed in relief as I saw the intruder. "Ron, it's just you."

But Ron said nothing, though but stood tall and confused before me. He narrowed his gleaming eyes, trailing from my face to my quill.

He closed his eyes and shook his head with an awkward laugh. "How did Harry do it?"

I continued jotting down the requirements of the potion I had found. "Do what?" I asked, with admittedly little interest.

A larger, tearful laugh from Ron got my attention. He rose his arm lamely in my direction. "Obtain the unattainable," he said, bitterness and disappointment dripping from every word.

I closed my book with a concerned thump. "Ron…what _are_ you talking about?"

"Of course you don't understand. You don't even see it, do you?" he narrowed his eyes at me in accusation.

"Ron," I said, with increasing worry. "If you want me to understand, you have to _explain_ it to me."

He stared, narrow eyes letting a few tears out.

"Ron," I added, frightened by whatever was going on. "_Please_. Please _help_ me understand."

Ron shook his head again, this time furiously, tears flying from his eyes. "Not anymore. I'm _not_ falling for your games anymore."

"My games?" I stood up from chair, close to tears now too. "Ron…I…_please_!" I reached my arm out toward him and he pulled his arm back.

"Love is regrettable…" he said blankly and without another word, he walked away.

The first thing the next morning, I told the whole thing to Harry.

"Don't worry about it Hermione, whatever it was, he'll get over it. It _is_ Ron, after all," he assured me, shoveling down a piece of toast.

"But Harry…he was so upset…" I said unsurely. It just didn't seem like one of those things you can bounce back from.

"Trust me Hermione," Harry assured. "Just give him some time. He'll be fine."

So I did, I gave him lots of time. At first, he wouldn't have anything to do with the either of us. He avoided me at all costs and the few times I did manage to corner him, he would break into fits of rage. Eventually though, and without any real explanation, his anger faded. Things returned to normal and both boys assured me that everything was fine. Still, something was different about Ron. I kept silent though, no need to start another fight.

It was a few months later when I finally found out what. A Death Eater had made it into the castle somehow and as far as the boys Dormitory in the Gryffindor tower. Harry had fought the hooded figure and destroyed it.

We never saw Ron again.

I still like to believe it wasn't him. I like to believe that he's still alive somewhere, or died trying to protect his best friend. Most people (or at least Harry and the Weasleys) try to agree with me.

Whatever happened, there's no denying he's gone now. And even if he's not dead, even if he just ran off that night or got kidnapped, the boy I loved is gone. They say you don't realize what you have until you lose it, and I've lost it. Every memory that used to make me smile stings now and if I think about him for more than a few moments, I can't breath. I never felt anything so final. Of course I'd lost him before, through fights and through Lavender. But then, there was always hope. There was always a future to promise myself. Now, there's nothing.

I didn't know what I had when Ron was with me. I didn't see the tiny signs, the smiles, the wonderful and horrible feeling in the pit of my gut. I was submerged in; it was part of me. How could I understand that was love? I understand now, I get it, because it's gone. I know this horrible emptiness in me must be heartbreak.

I've always believed that stories should have morals. It's pointless to read something if you can't learn from it. So, of course, I want get my point across. I want to tell you, to beg you, to appreciate what you have while you have it. I want to warn you that you won't know what you have until you lose it.

I want to, but it wouldn't make a difference. I heard those words a hundred times and didn't listen. Maybe it's something you have to learn from experience.

I hope not. I've found love is the hardest thing to lose.

_Fin._

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Be gentle, please! This was written quite a long time ago ;)

Reviews are _**SO **_appreciated!

Best wishes,

Soragirl


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